MENU

Sections

More

April 10, 2021

The Chestertown Spy

An Educational News Source for Chestertown Maryland

Ecosystem Eco Portal Lead Top Story

Barefootin: A Workboat’s First Priority: It must Float by Dennis Forney

by Leave a Comment

Share

Darrin Ford and Tom Stevenson, in Ford’s adapted crab scrape, leave Broad Creek’s oyster beds for the Bozman docks after a successful morning of oyster tonging

Working on the water requires a boat. Lots of different kinds of boats for specific purposes. They can do a lot of things in a lot of different ways, adaptable depending on conditions and opportunities.

But first off they have to float.  It’s always best that a boat keep most of the water on its outside rather than on its inside.

Ford’s scrape is now on the railway at PT Hambleton’s in Bozman for needed attention before her next enterprise

Albert used to have a boat built as a crab scrape.  Beamy and low, its builder constructed it for the shallow, eelgrass-laden waters around the chain of islands separating Tangier Sound from the main stem of the Chesapeake Bay. I call those islands the Chesapeake archipelago: Bloodsworth, Hoopers, South Marsh, Smith, Tangier, Hoopers, Watts and many more that stud the marshes of that low country along the lower Eastern Shore.

Scrapes are designed to pull a basket-like dredge over the bottom with a rope bag at the end of it.  The goal is to catch blue crabs that are getting ready to shed – peelers; crabs that are in the process of shedding – soft crabs backing out of their old hard shells to grow larger; and the completed soft crabs themselves hiding in the grasses from rockfish, rays and other predators. Just like the duck’s luck, succulent soft crabs attract lots of hungry critters, including humans.

When the dredge and bag are pulled in, watermen then go about separating crabs from grass. The boat’s low-slung nature makes it easier to pull rigs aboard.

The Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum in St. Michael’s displays this restored crab scrape as part of its sampling of workboats indigenous to the region.

Albert’s was an old scrape whose graceful shear – her gunnel curve from stern up to stem – appealed to him.  He used her in the rivers, bays, guts, creeks and other marshy waterways around Lewes, on the sea side of Delmarva.  She was in steady need of attention to keep the water where it was supposed to be.  That’s why he named her Colander.

Colander came to mind late in March when I was watching watermen harvesting oysters in Broad Creek north of the Choptank River mouth, inside Tilghman Island.

An interpretive sign at the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum in St. Michael’s illustrates some of the methods – including scraping – used for harvesting crabs.

Men anchored a wide variety of boats over the bars to gather their day’s catch.  Most were of the classic Chesapeake deadrise style, but one stood out among the rest because of its distinctive character. Unlike the rest of the vessels there that day, it was not designed for oystering. A crab scrape.

So what?  It floats, the engine works, there’s deck space for bushels of oysters. Its generous beam makes it stable and its wide gunnels provide a steady platform for tonging.  And just like its low freeboard makes it easy to hoist crab scraping dredges aboard for harvesting, that also favors bringing aboard tongs filled with rock-heavy oysters.

The first thing you wonder when you see it is whether the boat is sinking, it sits so low in the water.  Then you notice its high-stemmed bow. Despite its appearance it all works.

This week Darrin Ford’s scrape sits on a railway at PT Hambleton’s boatyard and seafood operation in Bozman.  Oyster season over, the vessel needs attention before Ford turns her to his next harvesting enterprise. Gunnel repairs, fiberglassing here and there, bottom paint.

She’s a far cry from what she looked like 40 or 50 years ago when she first left one of the Tangier Sound boatyards.  But her stout lumber and deceptive design, regular patching and maintenance, keep her in the game, enabling Ford to make a living harvesting the Bay’s bounty.

Dennis Forney grew up on the Chester River in Chestertown. After graduating Oberlin College, he returned to the Shore where he wrote for the Queen Anne’s Record Observer, the Bay Times, the Star Democrat, and the Watermen’s Gazette. He moved to Lewes, Delaware in 1975 with his wife Becky where they lived for 45 years, raising their family and enjoying the saltwater life. Forney and Trish Vernon founded the Cape Gazette, a community newspaper serving eastern Sussex County, in 1993, where he served as publisher until 2020. He continues to write for the Cape Gazette as publisher emeritus and expanded his Delmarva footprint in 2020 with a move to Bozman in Talbot County. 

The Widow and Widowers Gut Punch by Angela Rieck

by 3 Comments

Share

After a death, survivors are required to put their estate in order at their most vulnerable moment. To give you a glimpse of the minimum things that must be done, I provided a list at the end of this column. My circumstances were more difficult because I made the classic mistake of letting my husband take care of all our finances, taxes, and bills.

After a spouse’s death, transferring bills, closing accounts, dealing with institutions, and paying healthcare bills is a daunting, full time job. I quickly used 20 death certificates and had to order 20 more. I spent the first year grappling with summary judgements, medical bills, IRS audits, account seizure, health insurance, computer accounts, and unpaid bills. The systems designed to protect against fraud require survivors to surmount substantial hurdles when they are least equipped to do them.

Jeff and I kept separate credit cards, but while he was suffering, many bills had gone unpaid. One card had credits; but the company demanded that I pay the bill and indicated that they would immediately mail me a check for the credits. And last week, five years later, I received that check.

I promptly deposited that check (of less than $500), triggering my bank’s risk department. The check was made out to my husband’s estate of which I am the sole beneficiary. The bank refused to accept the deposit. Could I call the credit card company, and have the check issued in my name? A call to the credit card’s risk department. No.

My bank’s risk department continued with more requests. Could I send a copy of the will? Done. Could I send a copy of the letter indicating that the will was executed? Done. Death certificate? Done.

It has been five years and still the memory of the brutality of the state, federal government, social security, credit card companies, insurance, and financial institutions is raw. Social security needed our marriage license, my husband’s 35-year-old divorce decree (from his previous marriage) and the divorce settlement agreement (I couldn’t find either) to collect widow’s benefits. My husband’s death triggered an IRS audit that went back five years. I fruitlessly searched through boxes and boxes for receipts. The night before a scheduled back surgery, I received a letter cancelling my health insurance (which had been in my husband’s name). The letter indicated that while I was entitled to the insurance, I would have to reapply in my own name. My state trolled obituaries to close any account related to the decedent. And so it went, over and over again, the institutions designed to protect you, going after you at your most vulnerable time.

And the reasons for these voluminous requests are to prevent fraud. The problem is that they put the onus on the least capable person. A simple alternative would be to allow the survivor to sign an affidavit attesting that they are entitled to the benefit.

Five years later, I finally got through all of it; with one exception. Prudential still refuses to accept the executed will and is requiring the state send an affidavit that there are no other wills. I’ll have work on that one; in the meantime, Prudential gets to keep my money.

Large financial institutions have notorious risk departments that make basic transactions difficult.

Back to the present, today I got another call from my large bank. Their risk department is still refusing to allow this check to be deposited. Could I send a notice from the state saying that I am the only executor? I called the state and was informed that there is no such document, since the will didn’t go through probate.

And so it goes.

Partial List of Survivor Duties (within first year; most within first few months)

  • Contact mortuary.
  • Plan funeral or memorial service including location, food, flowers, etc.
  • Compose and publish obituary.
  • Notify friends, family, co-workers of death and upcoming service. Utilize social media to ensure broadest reach.
  • Contact the Social Security Administration—must have all marriage and divorce (if spouse had prior divorce) documents.
  • Locate most recent will.
  • Notify spouse’s employer.
  • Notify insurance companies, including life and health.
  • Change all property titles.
  • Change name on all utility bills.
  • Remove spouse from voter rolls.
  • Contact the attorney for a reading of the will and to settle the estate.
  • Pay end of life medical bills.
  • Find out about benefits due to beneficiaries. Check on retirement or pension plans. If used spouse’s medical insurance, apply for continuing coverage.
  • Notify own employer, since death of a spouse may be a “life event” that could trigger benefit decisions.
  • Check with all former employers about life insurance policies, a pension, an old 401(k), or other benefits.
  • Check with the Veterans Administration, if applicable.
  • Get claim forms and instructions. It can take weeks to receive funds.
  • Remove spouse’s name and update insurance policies, such as auto and homeowners.
  • Change titles on all jointly held bank, investment, and credit accounts.
  • Close accounts that were in spouse’s name only or change the accountholder information.
  • Send a letter to all major credit bureaus and get credit reports to see if there are any debts.
  • Add notification in credit report that says “Deceased—do not issue credit.”
  • Notify accountant/tax preparer.
  • File end of life Federal and State tax return within 9 months or sooner.
  • Sort through and donate late spouse’s belongings.
  • Get copies of spouse’s death certificate. All financial institutions, credit cards, and utilities require death certificates to close an account or to change ownership.
  • Pay bills for credit cards, utilities, car loans, property tax, insurance premiums and the mortgage.
  • Notify Medicare and other health insurance companies that you will no longer pay your spouse’s premiums.
  • Cancel club memberships and magazine subscriptions.
  • Prepare the estate. Identify which assets to donate directly to dependents and which to keep.
  • Console family and children.
  • Grieve.

Angela Rieck, a Caroline County native, received her PhD in Mathematical Psychology from the University of Maryland and worked as a scientist at Bell Labs, and other high-tech companies in New Jersey before retiring as a corporate executive. Angela and her dogs divide their time between St Michaels and Key West Florida. Her daughter lives and works in New York City.

Not So Fast on the Biden Jobs Plan Act—Let’s Get It Right by J.E. Dean

by 11 Comments

Share

In the next few weeks, a lot will be written about President Biden’s American Jobs Plan Act. This $2.3 trillion bill is omnibus legislation intended to address a variety of national problems. These problems include our crumbling infrastructure, climate change, underpayment of workers who care for seniors, and the need to be more competitive with China. To pay for solutions to these problems, the bill also raises taxes for “big corporations” and for “wealthy individuals.”  

A draft of the bill does not yet appear to be available. When it surfaces, it will be yet another 800-page monster, the type of bill that our elected representatives tend to vote for or against without reading all of it. And because Republicans are already lined up against the bill, primarily because of the size of the spending and the imposition of new taxes, civil, bipartisan debate of the type that can lead to improved legislation is unlikely to occur. 

Democrats are likely to use a legislative process known as “reconciliation” to try to pass the bill in the Senate despite the 50-50 split between the parties. It is hard to fault Majority Leader Schumer for resorting to this approach given no signs of any Republican compromise. The reconciliation process, however, was not intended to facilitate the passage of massive new programs. As a result of the availability of this “legislative shortcut,” incentives for Democrats to work with Republicans are eliminated or at least reduced.  Schumer’s likely decision to use reconciliation also will “justify” Republicans simply voting against the bill and hoping that once it gets enacted, problems with it will surface.

“Problems” are likely if a bill of the size and complexity of Biden’s proposal, including dozens of new programs, is enacted. It is hard to get dozens of new spending programs “right” when they are all enacted and funded at the same time. The new spending in the bill could also trigger inflation. If it does, will additional “emergency” legislation be needed to clean up the mess?  And what if Republicans are right that raising corporate taxes will decrease rather than increase American competitiveness?

Based on what we know now about what is in the bill and how Congress will consider it, asking questions is warranted. Not asking questions is irresponsible. Because of the size of the bill, which will be followed by a third trillion dollar plus bill, asking questions is imperative. And if acceptable answers are not found, changes should be made, or enactment of the legislation should be reconsidered.

Dozens of questions should be explored regarding the bill. Here are a few examples:

At the top of the list is “Will this bill trigger inflation?”  There are no simple answers here. Modern Monetary Theory, or MMT, suggests that it may be possible to address pressing priorities such as climate change, infrastructure, and social justice and not trigger inflation.  Others are not so sure. Reducing the risk of igniting inflation means reducing the cost of the bill or finding trillions of dollars in new taxes. Given the unlikelihood of enactment of the full Biden tax plan, a reasonable compromise might be to pare down the bill, something progressives will not like.

Do the electric vehicle provisions in the bill, with a price tag of $174 billion, make sense? The bill calls for more funding to promote electric cars than to repair bridges and roads. ($115 billion).  Given that multiple manufacturers already are aggressively entering the electric car market, do we need the Federal government to build charging stations? The summary of Biden’s proposal includes the point that workers building the cars must receive a good wage. How do you make that happen? The bill also states that low-income people should have the wherewithal to drive electric cars. Do you force manufacturers to sell these electric cars at affordable prices or subsidize them?  In either case, does this make sense given the entire car market already is heading towards electrification?

Other questions relate to the diverse programs that look like campaign promises being fulfilled. A case in point:  Provisions in the bill proposing $400 billion to support improved elder care. A major part of this proposal is to raise wages for home health workers serving seniors. While it is unclear how the bill would accomplish this other than by giving states and local governments money to subsidize wages, the bill also requires that home health workers get the right to union organization. Many of us support unions, but the summary of the bill makes it sound as though these workers might not have a choice not to join a union. That may not be good for the workers, but why pick a unionization fight in a spending bill?  Maybe this fight should have been fought elsewhere?

Mark Twain once said, “He who asks is a fool for five minutes, but he who does not ask remains a fool forever.”  I do not want to feel foolish if the American Jobs Plan proves to be a mistake. Support for repairing our infrastructure, addressing climate change, and promoting racial and social equity should not be mistaken as a license to pass massive legislation without doing everything possible to “get it right.” 

J.E. Dean of Oxford is a retired attorney and public affairs consultant writing on politics, government, domestic policy, and occasionally goldendoodles.

 

Out and About (Sort of): Public Apologies by Howard Freedlander

by 1 Comment

Share

In late March, a Republican congressman from New York, Tom Reed, apologized to a female lobbyist whom he groped in 2017 and then resigned his seat in the House of Representatives. He publicly acknowledged his alcohol addiction.

Also, former Democratic governor of Maryland, Parris Glendening, admitted in a Washington Post opinion piece on March 1 that he made a “serious mistake” in adamantly proclaiming in 1995 that life meant life for a person sentenced to life without parole. He conceded that he paid too little attention to the value of rehabilitation, maybe even redemption, in prison.

After seven people died in 1982 from cyanide inserted into Tylenol tablets, the Johnson & Johnson’s CEO publicly apologized with little or no prompting for the fatal tampering of Tylenol pill bottles. He did what few corporate leaders: he immediately took responsibility. Some thought he was crazy, perhaps rash. In fact, he was spot-on. The fortunes of Tylenol rebounded rather profitably after the CEO’s mea culpa; marketing experts suggested that the Tylenol brand would cease to exist. They were wrong.

In 1989, news headlines blared reports of a severe oil spill after the Exxon Valdez oil tanker ran aground in the Prince William Sound off the coast of Alaska. Advised by attorneys to express no contrition, the Exxon CEO said nothing to alleviate the public uproar over the disastrous spill. When, after much stumbling, the CEO did claim responsibility and apologized; by that time the company’s reputation had suffered significant damage, as customers shredded their credit cards and stopped buying Exxon products.

A lengthy Harvard Business Review article, published in 2006, analyzed rather coldly and objectively the reasoning behind public apologies by political and corporate leaders. The decision-making process involves a cost-benefit calculation: would an apology help or hurt a corporation’s bottom, or in the case of a politician, his or her polling numbers and odds for re-election?

The magazine writer does not mention—unless I overlooked it, for which I apologize—another compelling reason: it’ is the right thing to do amid a crisis that you or your underlings precipitated. An apology for the plain reality of public suffering would seem to be a convincing reason to seek forgiveness, accompanied naturally by concerns over image.

I realize that some will consider me naive. And that might be true. An apology does not signify weakness, as many believe. In fact, it illustrates evidence of personal and professional character often secondary to bluster and finger-pointing in the public arena.

I recall that President John F. Kennedy accepted responsibility for approving the ill-fated Bay of Pigs invasion of Communist Cuba early in his presidency in April 1961. He had accepted the advice of his military advisors to invade our troublesome neighbor. He learned a difficult lesson that placed him in good stead during the standoff with the Soviet Union over the threatening placement of missiles in Cuba.

When I read Rep. Reed’s apology and intention to resign, I felt sympathy, not scorn for this public official and his demeaning behavior toward a female lobbyist. He took personal responsibility. He publicized his addiction. He accepted embarrassment as his punishment.

The cerebral Glendening, though out of office since 2002, decided to go public in claiming his mistake. While some might scoff at his confession, he certainly had little to gain by refuting his past remarks. I suppose his change of opinion could influence the state legislature as it deliberates over parole for juveniles. However, I doubt many legislators would pay attention to a former governor.

Sincere public apologies—even those constructed by crisis public relations firms—have value. They reflect some humanity and humility on the part of the apologists. They indicate a willingness to accept responsibility, as strong leaders should.

They illustrate sensitivity to public sentiment, if not to the inescapable harm caused by the activity or event that necessitated the public act of contrition.

As someone who has apologized often for my actions, and who has accepted apologies, I think a simple apology has lasting value. The benefit always exceeds the cost.

Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. In retirement, Howard serves on the boards of several non-profits on the Eastern Shore, Annapolis and Philadelphia.

The Peace of an Evening by Jamie Kirkpatrick

by Leave a Comment

Share

There is something about a quiet evening that soothes my soul. Day is done, the clock is winding down, it’s time for friends. The warming weather helps a lot; so does lingering daylight.

If you really let yourself go, you might just believe that for a moment, all is right with the world.

Of course, it isn’t, but we’ll deal with that tomorrow. Tonight let’s just go look at the colors in the sky, listen to the osprey on her nest, feel the residual warmth of the day, and just breathe. Let it all go.

Some things got done today but there’s still more to do tomorrow. But tonight, let’s just be with each other, however many that is. We’ll sit on the porch, toast our good fortune, talk, laugh, or weep a little remembering the ones no longer here. I’ll put my arm around you for a small measure of comfort.

Maybe we’ll make a fire. Maybe we’ll pour another glass of wine. Maybe we’ll nibble or nosh or listen to some music. Or maybe we’ll just sit quietly on the porch swing and watch the evening fall like a feather. OK; well, maybe we’re still working on the quiet part.

A pair of house wrens have made a nest in the hanging basket that presides over the porch. It was a lovely Christmas basket back in December, but now it’s well past its prime. But evidently the wrens found it nest-worthy—there are three tiny blue eggs hidden among the boughs—so the basket will remain where it is until the fledging are hatched and gone. That should only take a few weeks; in the meantime, it makes a good human story and a safe and secure avian home.

I am certainly not one you would call from a night owl, but I do enjoy a pleasant gloaming. That’s what my Scottish ancestors called the time in between day and night. It’s neither exactly twilight nor dusk, although both those names come close. Gloaming is subtly different because the farther north one goes, the longer the interim between daylight and darkness—at least during the summer months. (In winter, there just isn’t time for any roamin’ in the gloamin’ because as soon as the sun dips below the horizon—probably around four o’clock in the afternoon—you want to be indoors and in front of the fire or, even better, under the covers!)

But now, here in this pleasant clime, evenings are like a promise kept. They are to be savored. Put your work aside for a moment, put away your phone, find a comfortable place and a good friend and watch what happens when day is finally done and the busy world is hushed. You’ll be surprised about how the light lingers and glows, about how softly falls the night. And if you’re really lucky, maybe a friend will stroll by and stop for a quick chat; maybe you’ll smell the heat rising up from the earth or hear the chorus of peepers out by the pond; maybe you’ll take your wife’s hand and feel its warmth against your skin.

And if you’re really, really lucky, you’ll whisper to her, “Happy birthday, Honey!”

I’ll be right back.

Jamie Kirkpatrick is a writer and photographer who lives in Chestertown. His work has appeared in the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the Washington College Alumni Magazine, and American Cowboy Magazine. Two collections of his essays (“Musing Right Along” and “I’ll Be Right Back”) are available on Amazon. Jamie’s website is www.musingjamie.com.

 

 

 

 

Cherry Tree: Groupon Cut & Dyes by Marianne Chan

by Leave a Comment

Share

Groupon Cut & Dyes

In north Florida, my hairdresser asked
aaasawhere I was from, and I told her the Midwest.
Where are you from-from? she asked. I passed
aaasaon telling her: The Nation of Repressed

Emotions. Instead, I said I’m from West
aaasaof here. She paused. California? she asked.
Further west. She holds my hair against my chest
aaasaIn north Florida, my hairdresser asked

if I was adopted, snipping a vast
aaasaamount of my long black hair from my crest.
Your English is great, she remarked, and asked
aaasawhere I was from, and I told her the Midwest.

Not adopted, but thank you, I expressed.
aaasaI became worried: How long would this last?
This woman! And my hair looked a mess.
aaasaWhere are you from-from? she asked. I’d passed

another salon. Should’ve gone there, I amassed
aaasaregret. My hair will look bad, at best.
Turning the chair, I saw my new do, gasped!
aaasaTelling her: The Nation of Repressed

Anger. She promptly asked: Is this a test?
aaasaI paid and drove away and wept, at last,
with the radio on. Finally, I could rest,
aaasaI’ll grow out my hair, dye it back to black.
aaasaaaasaaaasaaaasaIn north Florida.

*

Marianne Chan is the author of All Heathens from Sarabande Books, which was the winner of the 2021 GLCA New Writers Award in Poetry. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Kenyon Review, New England Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, The Rumpus, West Branch, and elsewhere. She is currently pursuing a Ph.D. in Creative Writing at the University of Cincinnati.

Cherry Tree appears under the imprint of the Literary House Press, the publishing arm of the Rose O’Neill Literary House, a cultural center with an almost 50-year-history of promoting the arts. Washington College undergraduates participate in all facets of the production of this print journal, though professional writers serve as genre editors and fill most senior reader positions. Although the journal is still growing, Cherry Tree has already received national recognition. Poems from three of its six issues have been selected for inclusion in The Best American Poetry (2016, 2017, and 2020). Poems have been reprinted on Poetry Daily and Verse Daily and have appeared in the Orison Anthology. Prose has been listed as “notable” in Best American Essays and appeared in Best Microfictions (2020).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Snapshots of Daily Life: Intolerance by George Merrill

by Leave a Comment

Share

In seventeenth century England, Clergy and nobility, the high rollers of that day, played hard ball with each other and with most everyone else. Religion and politics weren’t only matters of one’s preferences or personal beliefs; they were a form of blood sport. You could lose your head for not playing by the house rules, that is, for not being politically or theologically correct. Excessive political and religious zeal frequently turned lethal.

I like the idea that even in the past, when intolerance and vindictiveness prevailed, somebody with a conscience was speaking out at considerable cost to themselves.

This climate of intolerance in England grated on Anglican Bishop, Jeremy Taylor and in mid-sixteen hundred Taylor preached a sermon to address prejudice. Its title, “Against Bitterness of Zeal,” caught my eye. He wrote, “Any Zeal is proper for Religion but the Zeal of the Sword and Zeal of Anger.”

Here’s the sermon:

“When Abraham sat at his Tent Door, according to his custom, waiting to entertain strangers, he espied an old Man, stooping and leaning on his Staff, weary with Age and Travel coming towards him, who was a hundred years of age, He received him kindly, washed his Feet, provided Supper, caused him to sit down; but observing the Old man Eat and prayed not nor begged a blessing on his Meat, he asked him why he did not worship the God of Heaven. The old Man told him that he worshipped the Fire, and acknowledged no other God. At which answer, Abraham grew so zealously angry that he thrust the old Man out of his Tent, and exposed him to all the Evils of the Night and an unregulated Condition. And when the old Man was gone, God called to Abraham and asked him where the Stranger was? He replied, I thrust him away because he did not worship thee.”

God answered him, ‘I have suffered him these hundred Years, although he dishonored me: and coulds’t not thou endure him one Night?”

Taylor was no stranger to the civil and religious conflicts raging in the England of his day. He apparently irritated some nobleman or offended clergy as he was imprisoned three times. Fortunately, he managed to keep his head.

Today, there’s an antagonistic religious/political atmosphere here in the states. This is why Bishop Taylor’s sermon struck me as it did; a kind of ‘déjà vu in retrospect, a discouraging one at that.

Intolerant people act hatefully, zealously, particularly in groups. Is such behavior driven by some natural law? Do men (typically men) necessarily turn cruel when they convene in groups to collectively regulate their needs? I have read accounts of atrocities committed by men in groups; there’s a theory that holds how it’s unlikely they’d behave that way as individuals.

In an old Life magazine, I read an article about a lynched black man. In an accompanying photograph, we see the man naked, dead, hanging by the neck from a tree limb, He had been castrated. An assembly of white men, and some children appear to be milling around the body, festively chatting as we might see people attending a community barbeque. I know from other accounts how church going Christians would likely be among such gatherings. These Christians would profess to love Jesus but would have no scruples brutalizing this man. They held an opinion that became a conviction: that the man hanging from the tree was not “their kind.” He was less than human, someone to be rid of.

In Bishop Taylor’s parable, Abraham was religious, ready, as his faith taught him, to provide hospitality to the stranger. When Abraham learned the old man was not a worshiper of his God, the old man was dehumanized in Abraham’s eyes. Abraham suddenly turned cruel, became punitive, putting the old man out into the night. What was he thinking?

In this tale, Abraham held a contemptuous opinion about people who didn’t worship his God. Fire worshipers, in his opinion, were inhuman. When Abraham discovered the old man’s religious preferences, all bets were off; Abraham treated the old man inhumanely. Dehumanizing those you dislike, is an ancient vice. The old man was undeserving of the normal courtesies of Abraham’s faith.

Our minds and bodies host all kinds of conditions. They live in the body or the soul but remain inert and do no harm. Circumstances, like being fearful or threatened, or affectionate and caring can activate the latent conditions to appear. I believe the habits of the human heart work in similar ways.

I have experienced two habits of my own heart that have influenced my life; the habit to love and to care, and the habit to hate and destroy. I have seen the way kindness activates the activates loving and caring. I have also experienced the fear that mobilizes violence. This is an ugly condition.

Years ago, a bat found a way into my house. He awakened me but I don’t know how, since bats on the wing are silent. However, I saw him. He scared me.

I knew that bats follow air currents and if I opened a downstairs window, he’d eventually find his way out. But I was too afraid to wait; I became possessed to get rid of him immediately. I grabbed a squash racket and waited for him to fly over the bed again. As he did, I swung hitting him square. The bat hit the wall with a thud and fell to the floor. I went over to see him. He lay on his back, his wing broken and twisted. He bled.

I looked at him –– this was the first time I’d seen a bat close up. –– and I saw how beautiful a creature he was. He had the fine features and the innocent face of a mouse only dark haired. He body was tiny with two tiny black eyes that glistened and still showed life. I looked carefully at his face and I was overwhelmed with sadness and regret. My behavior was mindless and particularly unnecessary and to this day I would swear, while he was dying, that his eyes were looking right into mine and asking me, why?

That’s when I met some of the bitterness of my own zeal inspired by fear and how destructive it can become.

Columnist George Merrill is an Episcopal Church priest and pastoral psychotherapist. A writer and photographer, he’s authored two books on spirituality: Reflections: Psychological and Spiritual Images of the Heart and The Bay of the Mother of God: A Yankee Discovers the Chesapeake Bay. He is a native New Yorker, previously directing counseling services in Hartford, Connecticut, and in Baltimore. George’s essays, some award winning, have appeared in regional magazines and are broadcast twice monthly on Delmarva Public Radio.

Delmarva Review: Rules for Beachcombing by Wendy Mitman Clarke

by Leave a Comment

Share

Author’s note: “This poem began as a simple list playing with the idea that beachcombing can be a metaphor for living one’s life. But I love the pantoum, especially when describing the sea’s endless rhythm, which the repetitive form mimics and enhances. When I rewrote the poem as a pantoum it became much more powerful, a way of understanding how we are all inevitably broken by the relentless tides of life but there is beauty in that brokenness.”

Rules for Beachcombing

First, you must forgive yourself
for all that you will miss.
Agree to go empty-handed.
Nothing is here for you, per se.

For all that you will miss,
the horizon is treasure enough.
Nothing is here for you
but what the restless water brings.

The horizon is treasure enough.
Still you call the names,
what the restless water brings
from the deep—olive, moon, murex—

you call their names—
triton, tellin, limpet.
From the deep—olive, moon, murex—
comes tidewrack’s wreckage—

triton, tellin, limpet—
the unusual color, the odd shape.
In tidewrack’s wreckage
the beauty of ruin tumbles,

the unusual color, the odd shape.
The fluted column of shattered whelk
tumbles in its beautiful ruin.
Allow for the broken,

the fluted column of shattered whelk.
Fall to your knees, your skin sand-gritted,
amid so many broken.
A million lives begin and end here.

Fall to your knees, your skin sand-gritted,
and agree to go empty-handed.
A million lives begin and end here.
First, you must forgive yourself.

◆

Wendy Mitman Clarke’s writing has been featured in numerous publications, especially in the Chesapeake Bay region. She won the Pat Nielsen Poetry Prize in 2015 and 2017, and her poem “The Kiss” (in Delmarva Review) was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her nonfiction has been published in River Teeth and Smithsonian. Her novel Still Water Bending was released in October 2017. Website: WendyMitmanClarke.com.

Delmarva Review is a literary journal publishing the most compelling new prose and poetry from thousands of submissions annually. As a 501(c)(3) nonprofit, partial financial support comes from individual contributions and a grant from the Talbot County Arts Council with funds from the Maryland State Arts Council. The review is available worldwide from the major online booksellers and specialty regional bookstores. For more information, please see the website: www.DelmarvaReview.org

Barefootin: Johnny Kinnamon Builds Boats on Tilghman by Dennis Forney

by 2 Comments

Share

Tilghman Islander Johnny Kinnamon has been building boats for most of his life. It’s what he does.

He eyes boards through pupils of black, pooled in irises of watery blue. The images entering his eyes course through the infinite pathways etched in his brain from building boats for most of his 84 years.

By himself, and with his son by the same name, Kinnamon figures he has built somewhere north of 300 boats.  Most of them Chesapeake Bay deadrise.  That term describes the angle of the boards coming off the keel and meeting the sides of the boats. Workboats for working watermen.

Some as short as 16 feet – I’m guessing – and others as long as 48 feet and more, with beams of 14 feet.

Marine surveyor Don McCann and I spent time a few weeks back talking with Kinnamon in the Knapps Narrows shop where he and his son build boats. This 46-footer bound for the Western Shore as a crab potter was nearing completion at the time. “She’ll barely fit through the doors,” he said, “but she’ll fit. By an inch or so.”

They have tons of working space on their decks, fashioned for oystering, fishing pound nets, crabbing trotlines and pots, sipping cold beers and sodas with family and friends on Saturday evenings while coaxing rockfish to take a hook, watching the sun go down. Watching the stars come out. Feeling the slap of the Chesapeake’s short chop against the hulls.

Strong hands with knuckles enlarged from work and arthritis.

He talks about a boat he has built – or plans to build – that will be named Bourbon Street Lady. The name is a nod to his time in the Navy, on a tour of duty in New Orleans. He joined when he was 16. Took some lying and a service that needed men.

Did a standard tour, came home to Tilghman Island where he’s lived his entire life.  Always on the water and around the water.  A kid rowing a skiff from down the island in an area known as Fairbanks and Bar Neck, up to downtown Knapp’s Narrows.  Snagging a soft crab or two along the way. Diesel and gas engines humming roughly, bells of the drawbridge gates clanging, the general store and church and post office and steady banter of the watermen coming and going from the fertile waters of the middle bay and lower Choptank.

A couple weeks after we visited, I returned to the Kinnamon shop. The visit confirmed what Kinnamon had told me – not that I had any doubt. There’s been a lot of careful measuring and cutting in that shop through the years. At this point, her frames ready for attachment of the deck-sheltering covers, Miss Emily was ready for her engine, then launching, then the start of the 2021 crabbing season in April.

Back from the Navy, no clue as to what to do, Johnny found an old boat.  Fixed it up.  Used it a while and sold it.

Then another.  Sold it too.

Working with the boats, eyes and hands and steadily increasing knowledge and skill, he grew more comfortable with the structure, the reasons, the nails, the saws, the progression, the balance.  He felt the satisfaction too.

One day he laid a long keel board across a pair of wooden saw horses and started building a boat from scratch.  Square stern, pointy bow, lots of time with a pencil on plywood, drawing and figuring, cutting and bending, attaching, connecting, imagining.

Imagining how this vessel would sit in the water, cut through waves, shed larger seas in storms, provide a stable platform to support a man or two or three or four, working the water with tongs or nets or pots, bring them home in the afternoon or evening.

He finished that one.  Stood back.  Felt more satisfaction.  Sold it.  Others saw it.  Liked it.

He built another and another and another.  A carpenter building houses for the water.  Plywood and two by four frames, stainless steel nails, fiberglass on the outsides to keep them dry.

The Kinnamon logo has been applied to hundreds of Chesapeake workboats.

People ordered boats and when they didn’t, he just kept on building.  “Mostly they would be sold before I was finished.”

These days the number keeps growing.  “Slower now.  The doctor says something about my heart.  I should slow down. But I can’t just do nothing.”

That brain, those hands and eyes and mind, aren’t designed by the creator to do nothing.

What used to take two weeks now takes six weeks, or whatever.

Lots of Kinnamon boats around the middle and lower Chesapeake. Johnny Kinnamon builds boats.

I saw him outside the Tilghman country store over the weekend.

“I think I’m about done building boats,” he said.

“My brain says go, but my body says hell no.”

Dennis Forney grew up on the Chester River in Chestertown. After graduating Oberlin College, he returned to the Shore where he wrote for the Queen Anne’s Record Observer, the Bay Times, the Star Democrat, and the Watermen’s Gazette. He moved to Lewes, Delaware in 1975 with his wife Becky where they lived for 45 years, raising their family and enjoying the saltwater life. Forney and Trish Vernon founded the Cape Gazette, a community newspaper serving eastern Sussex County, in 1993, where he served as publisher until 2020. He continues to write for the Cape Gazette as publisher emeritus and expanded his Delmarva footprint in 2020 with a move to Bozman in Talbot County.